Legacy
by bjxmas
Summary: On edge after John’s death and trying to hold on, Dean gets his long overdue emotional release when the past confronts him with the pain of his childhood on top of the burden of protecting Sammy. Everything converges to bring Dean Winchester to his knees.
1. Memories

Legacy 

_This story is dedicated to Swan, whose insight and guidance have been crucial as I try to decipher the complex nature of Dean Winchester. Her professional knowledge guided me on the mechanics of Dean's catharsis; but more importantly, her unwavering support gave me the courage to attempt this emotional journey for him. I hope this portrait of the Winchesters rings true. __Legacy__ would never have been written without her gentle prodding and encouragement. Thanks Swan, it was scary as hell, but I'm glad we got 'er done! _

The story is set sometime after Born Under a Bad Sign and is told in four parts.

"_Memory is a way of holding on to the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose." - _K. Arnold

Chapter One – Memories

The gold case spun in the reflective light, shimmering from the afternoon sun bouncing off its glistening case; a round reflection dancing on the wall as John let it dangle on the sturdy gold chain. Like the tools of a hypnotist's trade the smooth, gold case was mesmerizing. On closer inspection, it was revealed to be intricately engraved with a detailed, swirling design on the case, front and back. John suddenly flicked his wrist and the antique pocket watch jumped up and landed in his open palm, appearing small and delicate surrounded by his large, calloused hand. He gently held it between his fingers and smoothly slid the opening mechanism on the bottom; as the cover popped open a beautiful, haunting melody played.

"Daddy, moosik!" Sammy squealed reaching out a chubby hand to touch the treasure.

Dean was stretched out on the floor practicing his letters and numbers in a wide-rule notebook, but he looked up from his first grade schoolwork, preferring to observe his family in this rare tranquil moment over studying the homework that was already three days late and would probably never be turned in. His baby brother was cradled in John's lap, giggling at the watch that held his rapt attention. The music a comforting reminder to Dean, bringing with it serene memories of a child being lulled to sleep as the tune softly played.

His father now used the watch to distract Sammy and silence his crying. It had always worked with Dean and it seemed to have the same effect on his baby brother, soothing away whatever agitation had caused this latest crying spell. It was the one thing John knew would comfort his son, the only item he possessed that could accomplish that not so simple task. Dean still found comfort in the sounds and peaceful memories they triggered, although he would never admit it; he was too old to be swayed by a flashy piece of metal and the sweet melody it played.

-----------------------------------------------------------

"Dad, where'd you get the watch?" Dean asked while reverently turning it in his hands, inspecting it once more, memorizing every detail. He scrutinized every aspect of it, even though he was already completely familiar with the patina of the old gold, the smooth outer rim contrasting with the intricate swirled engraving on both sides of the case, the clear glass inner cover over the porcelain watch face and the plain gold cover over the back mechanism, distinguished only by one word and a date engraved there: Winchester 1929. Dean always found that part fascinating; it was given to his great-grandfather on his twenty-first birthday, exactly fifty years before he himself was born.

"You know the story," John intoned in his raspy, velvety voice.

Dean smiled, basking in the attention it could garner from his dad, "Tell me again."

He pressed into the strong embrace, his dad's powerful arm wrapped around him as they sat on the motel bed, their backs pressed firm against the fabric tufted headboard. At eight years old he knew he was too old for bedtime stories, especially considering their life now, but John always made an exception for this particular story, perhaps finding his own comfort in the telling.

"My grandfather got this watch from his father on his twenty-first birthday, right around the time the stock market crashed and the country was thrown into the Great Depression. Our family wasn't rich enough to lose any money in the market, but my great-grandfather lost his job and the family lost their home and times were tough, real tough. The watch had been ordered and paid for before the crash. It wasn't a cheap watch back then, actually quite expensive, but I guess Great-Granddad thought he was doing pretty good and he wanted to give my grandpa something special. Something he could treasure and pass down in the family, a legacy, I guess."

"And I'm gonna get it?"

"Yep, that's the deal. On your twenty-first birthday, this watch will be yours, until you have a son and so on."

Dean smiled. With all the turmoil that had conspired against him in his young life, it felt comforting to know there was one snippet of normal left, one tradition that hadn't been disturbed by the evil Demon: one remembrance of a past that was good and pure, one symbol of hope for the future.

"Dad, tell me the rest."

"I think you should tell the story, you know it better than me."

"No, Daddy. You tell it." Dean shifted down into the bedding, snuggled in for the telling.

Dean had never been one for stories, at least not since the fire; rather he was the one who told the stories to Sammy, but this was different. This was the one story Dad told, the one connection Dean had to a family he didn't even know. Most of his family dying before he was even born, the rest estranged and lost through the years, the last remaining few shut out after the fire, leaving just the core of Dad, Sammy and Dean; but still he felt a connection, a connection to something and he felt a comfort.

"Well, Grandpa felt so guilty about receiving such a grand gift, especially under the circumstances, what with his dad being out of work and all, that he pawned the watch for cash to help out his dad. He got twenty dollars for it, which was a lot back then. He had thirty days to pay back the pawn shop or lose the watch for good, only he didn't plan on retrieving the watch; he gave the twenty bucks to his dad and tossed the pawn ticket in the trash."

"Then what happened?" Dean again looked with longing at his dad, as John smiled at the memory, a good memory that signified the bond of family, the continuity of life.

"Well, my great-grandma found the pawn ticket and knew what her son had done. Now mind you, she was so proud of him, how he sacrificed his own happiness for his family; but her heart broke too, cause she knew how proud and pleased he was to get that watch and how much it must have hurt to let it go."

Dean burrowed in deeper within the scratchy motel comforter, this was the good part. "And then what happened?"

"Well, she sold her mother's handmade quilt to the richest family in town to raise the money to get the watch back from the pawn shop."

"And it meant a lot to her, right?"

"Yeah, it meant everything. It was all she had left of her mom. Her mom spent hours making that quilt and it meant the world to her, but her son's happiness meant more. When it came down to a choice, she knew what she needed to do."

"Family comes first."

"That's right."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

John had been gone on a hunt for almost a full week now. Stir crazy from sitting around the house, Dean was antsy hoping he would return so they could both head out on the next job together. His irritation with his dad for leaving him behind was eating at him, not like a few bruised ribs were going to prevent him from doing his job. All right…, maybe one or two were cracked, still….he'd learned a long time ago to ignore the pain and just soldier through it, not like he'd never been on a hunt while injured. The way he saw it the pain was going to be there regardless, he might as well back up his dad and take out some evil bastard instead of lying around the house acting like a freakin' invalid.

Besides, watching over Sammy was no picnic these days, what with the constant complaining he was prone to: griping about the life, the danger, the inconvenience to how he wanted his life to play out. At sixteen, Sam was your typical teenager, angry and belligerent. Luckily most of his venom was reserved for Dad; Dean still seemed to hold some sway over his mouth and actions, unless he made a stand and defended Dad. That was enough to unleash Sam's fury toward him.

As the mediator in their little war of wills, Dean had learned to lay low. He had grown weary of trying to understand and defend either of them. He loved his brother more than anything, more than Sammy would ever realize; he just found himself not liking him on so many occasions now. It hurt to resent Sammy for what he said and did, but he saw the hurt in his dad's eyes when his brother talked back and he felt his dad's pain at losing the respect of the younger Winchester.

He simply couldn't see Sam's side of this issue. He knew why they hunted. He knew the evil that lurked in the shadows and prowled the streets needing to be killed. He knew how many innocents they had already saved over the years of hunting, and how many more still needed to be saved. Why couldn't Sam realize that? Why couldn't his brother recognize the worth of what they do? Why couldn't Sammy for once in his life put his own concerns aside and act for the good of mankind? He was simply being selfish, a self-centered brat, but then that's what most teenagers are.

Dean just couldn't relate. He'd never been a typical teenager, never had that luxury. He'd never allowed himself to be selfish, to put his own needs first. The only need he had was his family and keeping them alive and together. That had been his only desire his entire life and success was predicated on keeping Sammy safe, even if it meant locking him in his room until he was twenty, _or forty_.

All things considered, he would rather be on a hunt. At least when he was hunting, life made sense. He could compartmentalize the pieces and when taken out one at a time, he could handle them. You search out evil, you hunt it down and you waste it. Perfect order in an imperfect world.

Dad promised to be back by the end of the week. Dean knew it was crazy, hell, just plain stupid, but he couldn't get the hope out of his mind. _I mean, I haven't seen it in years. Maybe he lost it, or maybe he finally pawned it. It was after all just a trinket…, he probably doesn't even remember. It's not like in the grand scheme of things it even matters. Just a broken family heirloom, so why do I even care? _

"Dean, I'm going to the movies with Jake. You wanna come?" Sam stood there chugging the milk straight from the container. Not asking, telling. _Typical sixteen year old._

"Your homework done?"

"Duh."

_Yeah, I know, stupid question. I guess I'm just being stupid all over the place now. Dad's considered me a man since I was sixteen, but in a few days it will finally be official. Twenty-one, a legal drinker. A man in the eyes of the law, like that ever mattered to us. _

"Sammy, you armed?"

Another huff and a roll of the eyes, "Dean, it's the movies."

"Just answer the damn question, smartass."

"Yeah, I got the knife you gave me, and don't forget these hands are registered lethal weapons." He grinned as he assumed the position of Jet Li.

"Registered, my ass."

"Hey, you and dad are the ones that don't want any attention drawn to us. Won't let me enter any matches."

"Why? So you can hurt some unsuspecting black belt? Don't think so, little brother."

Sam flashed a diabolical grin, figuring if he had to study all this martial arts crap he might as well get some enjoyment and recognition for it. "I wouldn't hurt them, just kick their butts."

"Save it for the bad guys."

Sam's demeanor immediately shifted, their playful banter cast aside as his distaste for the life and the harsh realities imposed by their dad once more reared its ugly head.

"What other choice I got?" He sneered at his brother.

The sudden bitter silence between them again revealing their opposing outlooks, reminding Dean how much he wished he were on a hunt dealing with an evil son of a bitch, instead of an inconsiderate SOB who shared his same blood. Yeah, the evil ones were easier to deal with; you just drill 'em through the heart and salt and burn 'em. _Dealing with Sammy, not so simple._

Sam quickly retreated from his words upon seeing the hurt flash in Dean's eyes, instantly regretting his sharp tone, again realizing he didn't want to hurt Dean…, the one he wanted to hurt wasn't even there. _Save it for another day, Winchester._ An amused grin spread across his face as he put his best moves on his brother attempting to throw him to the floor, trying to diffuse the tense atmosphere with some roughhousing. His attempt to tackle Dean failing as he was spun around by his brother's quick reflexes and pinned against the opposite wall.

"Looks like someone needs more practice." Dean laughed as he easily bested his sibling.

Sam's smart mouth couldn't resist one more gentle jab, "Just don't want you to look bad, your tender psyche can't handle being beat by younger bro."

Dean smirked at his brother; relieved they could slip back into their familiar routine and still have fun sometimes, mostly when Dad was out of the picture. He released his hold and slapped an open hand on his brother's chest, "Have fun. Back here as soon as the movie's over. And you're welcome, little brother."

Sam grinned knowing Dean was breaking the rules to let him go and his ass would be roadkill if Dad found out. He liked when Dean disobeyed the rules. He only did it for minor infractions and only for him. Dean never broke the rules for his own pleasure, always the good little soldier.

"Sure you don't wanna come?" Sam felt a slight twinge of guilt for cutting out and having fun and leaving his brother behind, but that's how it always played out. Sam played hooky while Dean covered for him and held down the fort.

"Dad might call, gotta be here. Just don't go letting anything happen, all right? I ain't covering your ass if you screw up again."

Sam smiled cause he knew better. Dean always covered for him, _always…._

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"Dad, I'm all right, quit worrying."

"Dean, if you ever do that again…."

"Dad, I'm sorry…. I thought it was a simple salt and burn, I didn't know."

"That's why you don't go off on your own. Do you hear me?" John's hands were trembling as he dressed his son's wounds. _Damn, that was close, Dean. Too close. If you ever…. _"Dean, promise me you'll never take off on your own like that again. Promise me."

Dean looked sideways at his dad. Distressed he had screwed up like this and worried him. Ashamed he had been fooled by a spirit, fooled and almost killed by it. _Just dumb luck, I made it out alive. _

"It won't happen again, Sir."

"You see to it, son."

"Yes, Sir."

Dean focused his thoughts on the ugly ass wallpaper in the room, concentrating all his energy on the bizarre geometric print. Anything to divert his attention from the pain of his chest and the terror in his dad's eyes, a fear he put there by his careless actions.

"Fine way to spend your birthday, getting slashed up by a spirit."

Startled, Dean looked back at his dad, searching deeper into his eyes, trying to see past the pain and concern, looking for more. "You remembered my birthday?" He softly asked in wonder, still searching with a foolish heart for …._more._

"Not every day a man's firstborn turns twenty-one." John muttered, his gaze still fixed on the wounds he was finishing bandaging. "Happy Birthday, son."

He seemed to pause, like he was on the verge of saying something, but nothing came. The silence was staggering as John struggled with what he wanted to say, but couldn't find the words, this last scare demanding all his attention and focus. Unwilling to say what he wanted to, unable to give his son what he knew he was waiting for, he said nothing and retreated to the other room.

Dean sighed and lay back on his bed, the bandages on his bruised and mangled chest hiding the severity of his injuries, his stoic hunter determination already working past the pain of the lacerations on his body, while the hurt in his eyes barely concealed the pain in his heart. The evening hardly holding forth the promise he had dreamed of. _It's stupid, Winchester. Just a trinket, it's long gone, forget it._

TBC


	2. Discovery

"_One of the greatest discoveries a man makes, one of his greatest surprises, is to find he can do what he was afraid he couldn't." - _Henry Ford

Chapter Two – Discovery

"Dean, I was cleaning out a back room and I found something, you wanna come look?"

Ellen had waited until Sam was distracted with Ash, waited until Dean was alone to bring up the subject. She wasn't quite sure what might happen when Dean confronted her find, she just wanted to give him the benefit of privacy. As much as he claimed he was all right after John's death, she knew the close bond he shared with his dad and she knew how painful that loss could ultimately be.

Losing a father is never easy, hell she knew that from experience, but to lose the one man you had to depend on, the _only _man you _ever_ depended on? The only man you had ever looked up to and respected….worshiped even? She couldn't begin to fathom that. Dean was strong. John had told her over and over again how strong his son was. John's stories of Dean had made her cringe on more than one occasion. How strong and in control his son was, how strong and fearless he was, how strong.…how strong.…_how strong.… Damn it, John!_

She knew strength sometimes comes from fear and a desperate need to protect the fragile. Dean had a tough exterior, that was evident. Years of hunting and need having hardened him to the pain, but even the roughest geode will split right in two with a solid tap in just the right spot, displaying the brilliant, unique crystals within: crystals formed when severe weather conditions and the intense pressures of nature conspire to transform a plain hollow rock into a maze of complexity and hidden beauty.

She wondered if Dean could survive such a fracture; if the two halves of his personality could co-exist exposed to the elements, rendered bare in the harsh glare of daylight, no longer safely hidden in the depths of darkness, no longer protected by the hard exterior rock.

She had been fascinated by geodes since she was a little girl and found her first one, discovering it by accident amid a stack of similar looking rocks, nothing on the surface indicating to the untrained eye the wonder within. Her dad had shown her how to identify the signs indicating a plain, average rock might be a hidden treasure, and then how to study the rock determining the best spot to tap to expose the beauty within. She had delighted in discovering so many hidden facets, dazzling colorful glass spires shuttered away for generations before skilled hands set them free.

And then on her fifth geode she had watched in horror as it shattered to pieces when the tap brought about its destruction. Jagged shards of rock and crystal scattered across the table, a puzzle too intricate to ever reassemble. An early reminder that sometimes there is no saving the fragile beauty buried inside. Sometimes the only way for the rock to survive is to be left alone, intact, protected by its hard, rough exterior shell. The essence too delicate and brittle to survive exposed to the harsh elements that had once formed it. In those rare cases its only chance to exist was to just let it be.

She knew Dean was a geode; his tough facade protecting the hidden facets of his intricate personality, a fragile maze created by the intense pressures of his childhood and this Demon curse that dogged the Winchesters. His fate in the hands of an unseen force, slowly but surely tapping on that hard exterior rock. When the time came for the deciding blow, would he shatter and be destroyed? Or would he finally open up and reveal the wondrous beauty buried within? Was it worth the risk to try and free his inner spirit or would he be better served by just letting him be, as is, incomplete and fractured, but alive and mostly sane?

She knew Dean appeared strong, even impenetrable at times. Being John's son he had to be strong, as much from necessity as from inherent strength. But even the strongest can break if faced with an unbearable destiny, an unimaginable burden. Had Dean continued on from a foundation of strength or based solely on a child's determination? How much longer could he suffer the horrendous pain, bear the burden and keep trudging onward? How much can one man take?

John was a complex man; he had a strange ability to ignore what he didn't want to face, especially concerning his sons. He had spent years traveling the country fighting the good fight and facing down evil, but had he given his sons the attention they deserved? Had he tended to their needs, addressed their sorrows, and nurtured their souls? Hell, that was anyone's guess. His family life with his sons was all but a mystery, but if she was a betting person, she would have to bet against it. She just knew John and she wished she knew Dean better, to gauge how he might react to her find.

Dean sat nursing his beer at the end of the bar. No time like the present to find out. With his brother temporarily occupied, she motioned to the back room.

"What is it?"

"Just give me a hand, will ya?"

Dean looked hesitant, already suspicious, glancing at his brother stooped over Ash's shoulder intently observing the computer screen before them.

_Hunter instincts already on alert._

He took one last swig of his beer, leaving the half empty bottle on the bar. "Sure."

Dean followed her into the spare room and she closed the door behind them. He gave a concerned look back at her as he straightened up to his full height, his shoulders already appearing tense, arms rigid, muscles flexing as his hands nervously tapped the sides of his legs.

"Look Dean, I'm not going to pull any punches."

He furrowed his eyebrows in concentration and his jaw jutted out, almost like he could sense what was coming, as if he were bracing for a swift right hook. His chest expanded as he took in a deep breath, already steeling his mind for whatever pain was waiting, setting his feet so he was ready to withstand the blow.

"What is it? Just hit me with it." His voice low and sure, for a minute almost sounding like John. His silhouette from the glare of the harsh light behind him reminding her that he was John's son, his stance so familiar, yet at the same time different…, _hesitant, lost_.

"Your dad left some things here when he left after…." Ellen's voice hitched, the pain of losing Bill again at the forefront of her mind, intermingling with the emotions that welled in her every time she looked into Dean's eyes and saw his grief. _Damn, it's hell being the ones left behind._ She fixed her eyes on him and took a deep, steadying breath, "I never paid any attention…. Dean, I just discovered the bag. I thought you might want to go through it. I mean…, it could just be his dirty clothes, I don't know."

Ellen stood for a moment waiting for some response, some indication of how he might handle this discovery. Dean revealed nothing, his expression solid and empty. His false front plastered in place protecting his thoughts and feelings, his eyes the only window inside the stoic hunter, a slight flicker almost revealing his pain before he locked the shutters and retreated within. She waited a moment, finally settling for a simple nod before quietly closing the door on her way out. She returned to the bar and poured herself a drink.

Dean swallowed….hard. There had been blessedly little to sort through after Dad died. Not much to show for a life spent vanquishing evil. He had thought at the time that was good, all the better to move on. Ignore the hole, bury the past. It made it easier to pretend it never happened, that Dad was still out there somewhere fighting the good fight, even though he had salted and burned the body on the pyre, even though he had assured his brother he was facing Dad's death, had accepted it and moved on. _Yeah, right! _

John's wallet was the one item Dean had gone through, and that was three weeks after the fact. One night when he couldn't sleep he had silently risen and with Sam sound asleep on the next bed he had finally worked up the courage to see what the wallet had to say about the man he had worshiped his entire life. Actually, it turned out to not be much; but then again, that in itself said a lot.

The wallet contained a grand total of twenty-six dollars, four fraudulent credit cards, one fake insurance card, a forged California driver's license and three scraps of paper with phone numbers and addresses that turned out to be nothing more than remnants of old cases. The only revealing insight into the man himself were two old photographs, their edges frayed, the pictures themselves starting to fade and wear as if they had been tenderly taken out and caressed again and again over the years.

The first photograph showed a young John Winchester, smiling and carefree with his beautiful bride radiant on her wedding day. Dean stared at that photo a long time; the Mom he remembered was older, not as girlish looking as this picture, although the smile was the same. His dad was clean shaven, so vibrant and alive. His expressive eyes filled with wonder and joy, his grin displaying a devil-may-care cockiness; vastly different from the man Dean had known most of his life, a man weathered and beaten, worn down by the constant pain and the never-ending fight.

This was a picture of a time he was never aware of, had never before been exposed to. Most all their photos having been consumed in the fire. He had fleeting memories of Mom, but this was different; she was even younger here, and they looked so happy, so blissful, and it hurt to see that and to think Dad carried that picture with him all this time. A picture of hope and promise, a couple just starting their life together, totally unaware of the tragic ending to their journey.

The second was a photograph of his sons, a long forgotten snapshot in time taken just weeks before Sam announced he was leaving for college. A friend of his had gotten a new camera for graduation and snapped some pictures of the brothers roughhousing in front of the Impala. Dean couldn't recall ever seeing this photograph before and he wondered how his dad came to own it. It was folded over to fit the sleeve, the image of the brothers just filling the allotted space.

Dean barely remembered that time, being happy and content. Grinning wildly with his brother, before his heart was ripped from his chest when Sammy left and his world collapsed. They both looked so young, almost innocent, yet Dean knew better. It was less than five years ago, but it seemed a lifetime.

He stared at that picture for two hours that night, until Sammy stirred with the morning light and asked, "What the hell you doing, Dean?" Silently he put the photo away, not wanting to hide it from Sam exactly, just not ready to share. The wounds still raw and painful, not yet able to admit how much he missed that time. How he missed that Sammy, the brother who would never leave him, never hurt him. How he missed not having his family whole and how in a deep, buried part of his soul he blamed Sam for that, for sending them down this long, hurtful road. How he still resented him for leaving them in the first place, and how he dreaded the day he would again leave.

Dean involuntarily shuddered, confronted with more painful thoughts to hide away in that dark place where he'd buried all his childhood terrors. He glanced back at the closed door and briefly considered if Sam should be included in this latest find, after all, he was his dad too. That option was quickly dismissed as he decided it was his responsibility, _his job_ to handle this. Sammy was already drowning in grief over Dad's death; besides, he couldn't risk exposing his own fragile state, not knowing what he might find and further fearing how he would react to it. Still unsure if his heart could handle another blow.

Kneeling down next to the green duffel his hand softly traced the worn lettering on the top of the bag, _John Winchester_. He hefted the worn duffel up onto the army cot in the middle of the room and it felt like a bag of clothes, nothing more. So why were his hands shaking as he unzipped the bag? Why was there a pit in the depths of his belly, aching amid the hollow, warning him danger was near?

_What the hell is wrong with you, Winchester? This bag's been here what? Almost fifteen years? Maybe more, considering when Ellen said she last saw Dad. What could possibly be here that would mean anything? Just a bag of dirty laundry, no doubt._

He pulled out the first t-shirt and nervously grinned, a green USMC t-shirt, _figures_. Still, he clutched it in his hands, starting to lay it aside when he inexplicably brought it up to his face, inhaling the musty smell. It smelled like years old sweat and grime and he laughed at his folly. _What the hell did you think? It would still smell like Dad? You a pervert or what, Winchester? Smelling a t-shirt like a girl would? Come on!_

He relaxed a little, resigning himself to an old duffel of worn, dirty clothes. Not like this was going to reveal any deep, hidden secrets or bring enlightenment to his memories of Dad. This was not going to be any different than the wallet. _You get yourself all worked up over nothing. _He had already determined most of the items would be headed for the dumpster, not worth the effort to wash and dry them. _I'll probably keep the USMC tee just because.… but the rest, no value at all._

He dug into the bag retrieving a hardened pair of jeans, ripe with grime and sweat, and by the looks of it some creature's dried blood and guts. He hastily deposited them on the floor in the salt and burn pile. He grimaced then as he reconsidered and knelt down next to the disgusting remains and checked the pockets….nothing. Again the jeans dropped to the floor. Ellen had a vat out back to burn off garbage; that would be his next stop after he finished going through this bag. _Might as well dump the whole bag in, just to be rid of it. The fire will purge everything; cleanse it once and for all. It's over, let it go._

Dean grimly continued on, his heart clenched tight, his nerves on edge, hoping something of value would be discovered, yet praying nothing would be there to disturb the calm he had finally managed to achieve. Well not exactly a calm, more a deathly still, an empty nothing that shielded his heart from the searing pain.

Item after item proved to be of little or no worth. Most ended up on the floor in the burn pile, a few select items were laid on the cot: another USMC t-shirt Sammy might want and a worn, but nice, button down denim shirt. Washed up with a little of Ellen's fabric softener to erase the musty smell and they still had a little life left in them. Dean had often taken his dad's castoff hand-me-downs. He still wore the leather jacket his dad rejected years ago when he acquired a new one. That was one memento from his dad Dean knew he would never surrender. One connection to the past and the father who now existed only in his memories.

The bag was almost empty now, all his trepidation and anxiety appeared to be for naught, just a bag of dirty laundry like Ellen had thought. Nothing Dad would have ever missed. No reason for him to ever retrieve this bag, everything in it easily replaced with a quick trip to the Salvation Army. As he dug out the last of the soiled clothing his hand brushed against the hard edge of something and his heart faltered. He felt around the shape, determining it wasn't very big and grabbed hold of it, pulling it to the surface. Clasped in his hand was a square white box covered with a pink paper fragile with age, folded over with a broken rubber band partially stuck to it. His nail flicked off the remains of the rubber band and he unfolded the paper.

_Koltz Jewelry – Antique Watch Repair and Sales_

_1457 E. Hampton Ave._

_Middleton, Iowa _

_Special Instructions: Repair music and time mechanism. _

The repair order was dated January 24, 1990.

_Dad took it for repairs on my birthday….my eleventh birthday. Ten years before…._

Dean sank to his knees and started to shake uncontrollably. He could hear the object rattling in the box. Fearful it might break again, he quickly laid it on the floor before him and sat staring at it.

-------------------------

"Dean, where'd you put my watch?"

"On the dresser." Dean yelled from the shower.

"Not there."

John was rummaging through his duffel bag, digging through to the bottom and glancing around the room searching in vain for his watch.

Dean turned off the shower and quickly dried. He came out of the bathroom with his jeans plastered to his still damp skin while his wet hair brought a steady stream of cool water down his back soaking through his t-shirt. He gave a quick look at the dresser before realization crossed his face and he headed to his brother on the floor of the motel. Grasped in Sammy's hand was the watch, the cover open but the music no longer playing. He gently extracted it from his brother's tight grip and inspected the damage. No music, but worse still, no gentle ticking as the seconds passed.

Dean's heart clenched, crushed the heirloom was broken. Not quite understanding why it disturbed him so, just knowing he should have kept a better eye on his brother. He should have known the watch was too mesmerizing for a curious toddler to resist. He should have been more responsible and put it somewhere safe, out of reach, out of danger.

"Dad, I'm sorry."

"Dean, what?" John stopped digging through his duffel and turned towards his son.

"It's broke. It's my fault."

John studied the situation before him. Sammy was grinning and again reaching for the watch Dean held just out of grasp. An intense, pained expression reflected in his older son's solemn eyes, a look that made John's own heart falter. Three long strides across the floor to reach his sons and Dean placed the broken watch in his outstretched hand. John carefully wound the mechanism and held the watch to his ear, nothing.

"Dean, _you_ broke it?" He questioned.

"It was my fault. I didn't put it away." Dean's voice so soft and fragile, cracking with emotion, "I shouldn't have been playing with it."

"Weren't you trying to quiet Sammy? So I could sleep?"

Dean looked guilty, and so repentant. _Why the hell does he look guilty? I know it was Sammy who broke it, that's obvious._

"I was careless, it's my fault. I should have put it up."

John sat down at the foot of the bed, cradling the watch in his hand, intently staring at it, memories bombarding his mind. _It is just a watch…, just a watch. In the grand scheme of things it don't mean nothin'. _He looked at the anguish consuming his older son's face, guilt and hurt converging there.

"Son, it's only a watch."

Tears were forming in Dean's eyes, in young eyes that rarely allowed tears, that steadfastly weathered so much with stoic determination. "No, Dad. It's _your _watch." _One day, it's supposed to be _my _watch._

"Dean, it's all right. It was old. It doesn't matter. I should have pawned it back when it was still working. We could have gotten a couple hundred bucks for it. Now it's worthless."

_No Daddy, it's not._

------------------------------------

Dean pulled his knees up to his chest and sat there wrapped in on himself, small and insignificant again, a little boy confronted with something overwhelming, wishing he could just disappear into the woodwork. He sat staring at the small plain box, his body starting to spasm as he remembered all the times Dad sat and held him as he told the story, the history, the meaning of the trinket inside. He found himself closing his eyes and wishing for Dad's strong arms to hold him now and show him the way.

He was so tired. So weary of having the weight of the world and the fate of his brother heaped on his shoulders. Just so God damn tired of it all. The road he had traveled his entire life so long, so arduous, and it stretched on before him endlessly, no relief in sight, no respite from the journey. He stared at the box holding the gold pocket watch and with it all the hopes and dreams he'd lost along the way. His future overpowered by the pain and agony that descended on him, burying him under a ton of torment that just wouldn't end.

The painful events of his life stacked one on top of the other and ascending to the heavens in a precarious pile of stone. Each rock a hurt or terror he had endured over the course of his life. Ranging in size from pebbles to boulders, all possibly manageable on their own, but when piled together representing a mountain of pain. A mountain threatening to topple and bury him alive.

He remembered the promise of how it was supposed to be, back before Mom died and the life they should have lived went up in smoke forever blackened by the Demon's curse. Back before he stared into his father's face and the Demon's eyes stared back, taunting him with all the emotions and fears he'd kept buried deep within, exposing them to the light of day and wielding them against him. Back before Dad told him that terrible crushing secret and gave him that last God awful order that no father should ever lay on his own son.

Back before Dad did the unthinkable, the unbearable, _the unforgivable_ and sacrificed himself in a deal with the Demon so he could live…, live with that knowledge and pain and guilt. Back before Sammy looked at him with those desperate, pleading eyes and begged him to kill him if he ever went Darkside, _making him promise_. A promise now implicitly given to both his brother and his dad, and he knew it would kill him if it ever came to pass and hell, it can't, _I won't let it. I'm going to save you Sammy. If it's the last thing I do, I'm going to save you._

Faced with his life spiraling ever downward beyond all control, he gasped from the sheer weight of it. His lungs struggling against the pressure to draw in any air, his mind lost in a thick haze unable to form a coherent thought. His burden so heavy, pounding him down, down to the depths of Hell and it was all out of his control and too much, _just too much_ and he needed to be released from this purgatory. _I just want it to be over. _

His agitated body started rocking back and forth, absently humming Metallica, but the comfort song wasn't working, unable to ease this anxiety, instead only heightening his pain when he stopped and the quiet again threatened to consume him. _Oh God, I can't do this, not again, not like this. I'm not that strong, Dad._

The silence embraced him, a deathly still seemed to drag him into a vacuum and he couldn't breathe, all air sucked from his lungs. His heart constricting as he gasped once, a small hopeless last gasp, and he sat there not moving, not breathing until the lack of oxygen blurred his vision as black dots danced across his consciousness and he almost passed out. With a huge gulp he sucked in fresh air, his body's reflexes forcing him to breathe, driving him onward while his heart only wanted the pain to end. _Damn it all!_

He stared at the box on the floor before him, its contents calling to him, beckoning him forward, refusing to allow him any peace. He sat there for a long time, the pit in his stomach growing, devouring him, leaving a vast, empty numbness in its wake. Tears welled in his eyes, the intense pressure forcing them out, bringing to the surface all the years of pain and denial and guilt and terror and Oh God, everything he had feared and kept hidden. He was trying to hold them back, desperately trying to keep them buried deep in that dark place, that black abyss that had consumed his feelings for so long and let him forge on pretending to be all right.

Faced with the alternative he was stubbornly trying to hold on to the numbness, the emptiness; cause he could handle that, had handled it for so much of his life, learning from a young age how to bury the hurt and deny his pain. He just needed to do that again, cause he couldn't face the other, not now, not like this. He felt all the emotions, the hurts and disappointments, the memories, rising up, battering his defenses, demanding their time, screaming to be heard. He fought with all his might to control them, to shove them back down. Suddenly his fist tightened and before he knew what was happening he hit the floor once, twice.…over and over and over and over his fist impacted with the wood floor.

Blood spilled from the splits in his knuckles, his fingers swelling and battered and bruised; but he couldn't feel that pain, it wasn't enough to surpass the pain in his gut, the pain that wrapped tight around his chest and squeezed like a python in a death grip. He finally stopped, no longer possessing the strength to continue on. Again silently wrapping his arms around his legs, his face buried at his knees, making himself ever smaller, hoping he could just disappear; just diminish like the incredible shrinking man until there was nothing left and escape this harsh reality.

A deathly calm descended on him, temporarily offering up some semblance of control, or so he thought. The panic at bay for the moment, waiting while his mind grappled with the reality he found himself immersed in. His mind again racing as his body stilled, his thoughts bouncing off of all his memories and fears and hopes and dreams long lost and forgotten. Every wish and belief shattered with the realization he was never in control, never truly strong, and his fate was sealed. He was doomed to lose everyone he ever loved. He'd lost Mom, and now Dad, and Sammy was marked and he couldn't protect him. He couldn't save him, cause he wasn't strong enough. He was _never_ strong enough. They were cursed and it was predestined he would fail; cause he wasn't good enough, _he just wasn't good enough._

He started to laugh, unrestrained and frantic, _desperate._ The sharp edge of his emotions shifting from tears to laughter, trying to strike a balance; but the knife was too sharp, too smooth, expertly slicing through his defenses. Desperately he hung on, summoning all his reserves, fortifying his exterior shell, trying anything to steer clear of that dreaded emotional meltdown, fearing he would never recover, never again regain control.

He forced his hands to release from his legs and nervously cradled the box in his palm, the blood from his knuckles staining the white of the box. He took in a deep, purposeful breath and with trembling fingers he managed to lift the lid off of the box flicking it casually to the floor to reveal the familiar object. Tears again welled in his eyes before overcoming the confines and trickling down his cheeks, the emotions of his youth revisiting him full force as his shaking hand grasped the chain and lifted the pocket watch out of the box.

Dean shuddered and again fell silent, years and growth not relieving the hollow feeling in his gut as the deep abyss of emotions battered his defenses down, triumphantly flowing from his soul. His bleary eyes focused on the gold watch spinning on the sturdy chain, the shiny metal mesmerizing….taking him back to another time, another place, _another life_. He shivered and a ragged gasp escaped his lips, trying one last time to hold back his raging emotions, hopelessly trying to be strong.

_Damn it, it's just a watch….Dad's watch….now, at last….my watch._

TBC

Thanks to everyone who so kindly left a review. Any and all comments are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading, B.J.


	3. Destiny

"_Every man has his own destiny: the only imperative is to follow it, to accept it, no matter where it leads him."_ - Henry Miller

Chapter Three – Destiny

The pocket watch slowly spun on the gold chain, so familiar but no longer comforting; now only serving to dredge up all his memories, long buried deep in the darkness. The earth beneath him quaking, drawing all his repressed emotions up from the depths of the black abyss, up to the surface to confront him. Forgotten moments revisited, playing in his mind like an old movie flickering on a worn out TV. The signal intermittent as nature's fury swirled about him.

The winds were howling and his head ached from the intense pressures building within this maelstrom. His thoughts whipping about like sheets in the wind, wrapping around his throat and across his face constricting his airway and suffocating him.

Amidst the turmoil a calm suddenly came over him, a temporary respite from the cataclysm. His memories forcing their way to the forefront, not giving him any reprieve, only offering up the time to examine them, _to remember…. _

"I wish I could have that kind of innocence."

"Sammy, if it means anything…, I wish you could too."

The brothers silently shared a quiet moment before their lives would turn back down that fateful course, a tragic trajectory spinning them toward a destiny beyond their control.

"Dean, what I said before about you and kids…."

Strong shoulders tensed, _waiting_….ready to slough off whatever foolishness Sammy was heading toward. "Here we go again." The familiar offhand, cocky comment, diverting attention from….

"Just listen for a change, will ya?"

"What?" Dean snapped, his unease showing more than he meant it to, but Sammy could be so irritating when he wanted to _talk…, cause talking wasn't gonna change a God damn thing…._

"It's just….you were really good with Lucas, and now with Michael. Dean…, you practically raised me." Sam's sincerity saturating his words in a maudlin tenderness, his expressive eyes only adding to the sappiness of the moment, pushing the well-established boundaries Dean had always tried to maintain. "You're going to make a great dad someday."

Dean's eyes were moist with unshed tears glistening in the late afternoon sun as he grimaced from his brother's blatant disregard for the plain, obvious truth, the_ reality _of their lives, "Yeah, right." _You don't even see what's wrong with that statement, do you little brother? Are you still living in a fairytale world? That 'we can be normal' world?_

"Dean, I mean it." Sam's voice earnest, so impassioned and hopeful as he leaned against the roof of the Impala.

Dean purposely stared off into space, unwilling to face his brother and this foolishness. Unable to shake his brother's intense glare, he took a deep steadying breath as he turned back, resigned and quiet, absolute and unyielding. In a low voice he sternly responded, "It's never gonna happen."

"Why? Someday, when this is all over, don't you want to settle down? Have a wife….kids?"

"It's never gonna _be_ over, there's always going to be something to hunt." _When are you going to accept that?_

"So, we don't deserve a life?"

His brother could always be so dramatic, like _this _wasn't a life?_ It might not be the life you wanted, Sammy; or the life you deserve, but it's all I'm ever going to have. _

Sam made a wild sweeping motion with his arms, his eyes wide with a pleading, needy look. "Dean, we don't deserve _something_ other than _this?"_

"You _know _what's out there. Chaos and violence…. random unpredictable evil waiting to rip you to shreds.…" Dean's voice low and harsh before it hitched unexpectedly, his eyes downcast and haunted, the weight of this life enacting a heavy toll on him, breaking him down a little more with every hunt, bringing him closer to the edge, the last great abyss, "and you'd bring another innocent into this world?" _For what? To feel what I've felt? See what I've seen? Live a life like this? Why? Why would you do that to another child?_

"I want a life, Dean. I want what every other person on the planet is allowed. What's wrong with that?"

Dean's voice now soft, fragile even, teetering on the edge of shattered, "Nothing." _For you. I really do want you to have that, always have. It's just…._

Sam looked at his brother, but this time he held his gaze and studied him. The haunted look and tender voice capturing his attention and he finally looked past the tough façade and smartass remarks and actually saw his brother, really _saw_ him. Dean looked so broken, _so vulnerable, _so unnatural, so unlike _Dean. _

Sam's prodding had pushed Dean's thoughts back over the road not traveled, always just beyond sight, a pristine well-maintained country lane lined with picture perfect houses occupied by normal, apple pie families. A fantasy world where moms and dads coddled their children and hurt meant a skinned knee. So different from the road he had driven all these years, a road wrought with pot holes and ruts, barely manageable through the tangle of overgrown weeds and litter strewn debris, a road that led him to the gates of Hell to face down evil.

_The road not taken. But I don't want normal! It would freak me out to live in a manicured community. I don't want to be normal, I don't want…._

Dean sighed, _maybe…._ The other road on rare occasions still beckoning him when he allowed his mind to consider the possibility, taunting him with a glimpse of a better life; a life without the constant pain, a life void of the all-encompassing knowledge that evil was real and waiting to take you. A path that once held so much promise, before his family was doomed; a promise now denied him.

Memories conjured there of his daddy's strong voice from long ago, comforting yet painful; another harsh reminder of what once was, but never would be again. Illuminating the fractured dreams and stolen possibilities of that scared little boy, and revealing a past that was forever lost and a future that could never be.

The gold case of the pocket watch shimmered in the reflective light mesmerizing the young boy.

"It was something he could treasure and pass down in the family, a legacy, I guess."

"And I'm gonna get it?"

"Yep, that's the deal. On your twenty-first birthday, this watch will be yours, until you have a son and so on."

_Until you have a son…._

Tears burned in Dean's eyes. _How can it still hurt so God damn much?_

The ground furiously shook beneath him, threatening to open back up and swallow him whole. The earth laying claim to its own; trying to bury him back in the depths of the black abyss, back where he belonged, hidden deep in the volcanic ash and lava where the pressures of his life forged him. Summoning all his strength he struggled to remain above ground, fighting the memories that assaulted him, that conspired to pull him under. Desperate to hold on, determined to stand tall for his brother. _Protect Sammy._

"Sammy, together we'll beat this…, we will. Trust me. Nothing bad's gonna happen to you as long as I'm around."

"But you're just one man, Dean. I need to know there's more out there, that a higher power is watching over me, that maybe I can be saved."

"Oh, you're going to be saved. I'll see to it. The Demon can't have you, Sammy. You hear me?"

_Sammy? Sammy? You hear me? Where are you? Don't you do this to me. Ssssaaaammmmyyyy?_

"You couldn't save your father and deep down you know you can't save your brother. _You're worthless._ What you do to yourself is far worse than anything I could do to you. You're a failure and you know it. _You… will… fail…._ They'll all die and you'll be left all alone. How are you going to handle that, Dean? How can you stand to be alone with yourself? You're a failure who can't even protect his own family."

Dean gasped as icy fingers ran up his spine before encircling his throat; the fear and the truth grabbing hold and choking him, driving home the point of it all. _You're just not good enough; you are destined to fail. _His feet tingling from the simmering heat just beneath the crust of molten lava he stood upon, cooling but still unstable, starting to crack and give way under his weight; ready to break wide open and consume him.

"Don't you ever do that to me! You hear me? Don't you _ever _go missing like that again, cause I'm not going to come looking. You hear me?"

"Yes, you will."

"No, I'm not."

_Sammy? Where are you? I can't do this alone, never could. Please don't leave me. Please…. Sammy!_

"Dean, watch out for your brother."

"You know I will. I always do…. Dad, you're scaring me."

"Don't be scared, Dean."

_Oh God! Sammy? Where are you? Sammy, please…, don't you do this._

"Dean, I'm sick. It's over for me; it doesn't have to be for you."

"Really? Who says I want to go on?"

"_What?_ Dean, no….please…. _go_….save yourself, _please_."

"For the last time…, _no_."

A low, frightful crackling sound steadily expanded and filled the deathly still as his rock hard outer shell started to fracture, imperceptible fissures spreading out and covering the surface. Tiny rifts barely visible starting to form in his facade allowing the pain to seep through, finally breaching the surface and threatening the stability of the rock.

"Dean, when's Dad coming home?"

"He's not."

"Dean, I'm scared."

_I know, Sammy. I'm scared too. _"It's OK, I'm here. I've got you, little brother. I've got you."

"But I want Daddy."

"I know. Daddy had to leave and he can't come back. Don't worry; I'll take care of you. I always do."

_I always do. I've got you little brother. I've got you._

An earthquake off the Richter scale let loose shaking him to his core. Small chinks in the rock expanding into larger gaps rupturing the surface of his rough shell venting more of his emotions. The forces of nature so close to splitting the rock in two, so close to breaking him wide open. The aftershocks of the earthquake rolling over him as he struggled to maintain his balance, fighting with everything he had to regain control.

Dean huddled within himself, curled into a tight ball, every emotion and terror he had ever felt battering against him as he sat weathering the forces trying to tear him apart. He hunkered down, digging deep with all his willpower and stamina, desperate for any relief, but instead left with the unyielding truth, _it's over. I can't do this any more. I'm not strong enough and I'm doomed to failure. It's only a matter of time until it's done. Until Sammy is lost to the darkness and I'm left all alone, alone with nothing. Nothing….but the pain and guilt._

_Dad, I need you. I need you so much. I can't do this alone. It's too hard, I'm not that strong. I can't save Sammy. Oh God, how I want to be the hero. How I want to make it right, but I can't. I'm not strong enough, I'm not good enough. How could you leave us? How could you _do_ it? How could you?_

The voices in his head were screaming and he could find no relief; all the memories bombarding him with the harsh reality, the bitter truth of it all. His pain and grief descending into fury and rage, suddenly filled with long overdue resentment for what was expected of him…, what had _always_ been expected of him. Wanting to just run away from it all, but knowing it wasn't allowed, knowing he had one duty, one purpose. _Protect Sammy._

"I was dead, Sam. The dead should stay dead…. It was a miracle….a full recovery. I'm alive…. and then Dad's dead and the colt's missing. You can't tell me there isn't a connection."

The chill of the mountain air descends into an ice cold silence. _Figures Sammy wouldn't have a response to that. What could he possibly say to that?_

"Dean, you need to save your brother. You need to keep him from the darkness. It's up to you to save Sam…. but if you can't…. Dean, if you can't save him…, then you'll have to kill him. You can't let him turn evil. I'm depending on you…. Dean, don't be scared."

_Don't be scared!?! Damn you! Dad, how could you? How am I supposed to live with this? How do I save Sammy? Cause I sure as hell can't kill him. I won't. You can't just dump this on me and die! Damn it, Dad! How could you make that deal and leave me with this?_

He clasped the watch to his chest, his heart thumping wildly, his whole body shaking from the aftershocks rippling through him. His breathing ragged and harsh before diminishing to a mere whimper as every muscle tensed waiting for the impending collapse; barely holding on, his last line of defense pushed to the breaking point, ready to crumble from the sheer magnitude of his pain. _Still_ _he held on. _

A child's determination morphing into a man's refusal to yield; his hard exterior rock straining and moaning from the pressure, but somehow holding. He knew he was close to the breach, he could feel the fractures growing, deep cracks in the protective rock on the verge of rupturing, but something deep inside steadfastly holding back.

The gold watch shimmered and throbbed when it touched the amulet around his neck, the light bouncing off it brilliant with all the hues of a rainbow. A soft, low hum grew stronger, a melodic chord building to a crescendo and along with the lights expanding to fill the room. Dean looked up, his glistening eyes blinded by the brilliant display. All his senses filled with wonder as he embraced this mysterious serenity that enveloped him, this unknown tranquil feeling. He raised his hand to shield his eyes, no longer able to look into the sun that radiated through the room.

His heartbeats mimicked the pulsating rhythm until the serene feelings dissipated as the lights and sounds faded. He slumped back against the army cot, his own spirit waning. The hole in his gut stretching out to fill the void; taking him ever deeper back into his anguish. _Oh God, I can't do this!_

Suddenly strong arms embraced him, wrapped tight around his shoulders protecting him from his raging emotions. He pressed into the familiar grip, his mind taking him back to his childhood, to his dad's strong hold. He closed his eyes and sighed. _Daddy, I need you._

He sat there lost in the phantom embrace, refusing to open his eyes and lose the magic of the moment, preferring to be entwined in this fairytale than live in the real world. He'd lived in the real world his entire life and it was killing him, inch by inch, pain by pain. With the hurt temporarily tempered he could escape his torment. For however long this feeling might last he heartily welcomed it, not wanting to know it wasn't real, just sinking into the warmth of the love he felt. _It had been so long._

"Dean, you're not alone."

He startled back to reality. His eyes flew open and he looked up into his dad's familiar eyes, tender and loving, moist with fresh tears, a warm gaze filling him up with everything he longed for. The tight grip firm and real, his daddy's strong arms wrapped around him in comfort and security, at last protecting the fragile child.

He snuggled into the tender embrace, lost now in good memories, not knowing or caring why or how, just feeling safe at last. _Free. Released from his burden, relieved of his duty. Finally allowed to just be._

"Dean, it's all right. I've got you."

The warm grace of John's smile, the sparkle of his eyes, the low rumble of his voice, all the soothing sensations coming together and embracing Dean, leading him home and allowing him to finally release his pain. _Safe, protected, allowed…._

John's hand reached out and his thumb gently wiped away a lingering tear on Dean's cheek. His rough, calloused hand like sandpaper…, like velvet as he tenderly brushed his fingers down his son's cheek, momentarily cupping his chin in his palm. Dean closed his eyes and leaned into the familiar touch, so welcome, so desperately needed and he felt safe _at last_.

_The deciding blow came swift and sure, one final tap and the geode split in two._

Tears poured out of him, overflowing all his barriers, overpowering all control, rushing him headlong into the depths of his emotions. He drew in ragged breaths, his chest heaving from the vast expulsion of everything he had kept buried for so long, every hurt and despair, every fear and regret purged as he poured out his anguish. He cried out every ounce of dread he had held onto over the years, every terror he had locked away, too afraid to reveal, too scared to feel.

His breathing became labored as more and more pain welled up, a bottomless pit of despair flowing out of him. All the stagnating anguish stirred up and expelled at long last. He purged every pain and fear and emotion he had kept buried deep in that black bottomless pit that had just moments before threatened to consume him.

All the while his dad held him, his gravelly voice comforting, telling him the words that had been cast aside previously, lost and unspoken when the fight with evil demanded all attention. Letting him be that broken child and tending to his son's needs at long last. His strong arms holding firm, allowing him this blessing, permission granted to confront and finally release his inner demons. Permission at last to show his true feelings, to expose his raw emotions, to _feel_ them and be free from their hold over him.

Dean's entire body shook, every ounce of energy used up to vanquish his pain. He cried until his worn body couldn't cry any more, his spirit at last free, his heart light for the first time since he was four. A total catharsis purifying his soul and taking him back to that innocent age, letting him start over free of his festering wounds.

_The geode's two perfect halves lay open and bare. Their intricate beauty glistening in the warm glow of sunlight. All the brilliant crystals shimmering as lights danced about their perfect form. Two flawless halves displaying all the facets that had been so long buried. Dean's eyes shining with an inner peace, his face fresh and youthful revealing all the hidden beauty that had been so long denied_.

Eyes of wonder studied his dad, so relieved but puzzled. "Dad, how? Why?"

"Not sure kiddo, but I think it was the amulet. Somehow we made a connection. Dean, I don't know how long it's going to last. You know I can't stay."

"But Dad, please. I need you." Desperation already trying to worm itself back into his heart; his mind instinctively anticipating the coming pain, the endless battles ready to resume their torment. "Sammy needs you, Dad. I can't do this alone."

"Dean, you're not alone. You have Sammy. _You and Sammy…, together._ That's what this is all about. The two of you together are stronger than any one of us. You're going to beat this Demon. I can feel it, I've seen it."

"But Dad."

"Dean, listen to me. This is your time. I had my chance. Maybe I was supposed to train you, prepare you? Everything happens for a reason, you need to believe that. Your destiny is to stop this Demon. You and your brother will do what I never could."

Dean's heart was hammering in his chest, his nerves a jumble of conflicting emotions, so relieved to have his dad back, but knowing it wouldn't last and again dreading the inevitable parting. He didn't want to spoil the moment, but he had to know the truth. His mouth twisting as he tried to find the words, so hesitant to ask the question, so terrified to hear the answer. His voice hitched, so fearful to know for sure. "You made a deal with the Demon, didn't you? You made a deal to save me. You traded your life for mine…, _didn't you?"_

John's voice steady, reassuring, "Dean, you were never meant to die. Not like that, it wasn't your time."

"But Dad, you weren't meant to die either. Why? Why'd you do it? I should have died. It _was_ my time."

"Dean." John held such compassion and love in his gaze upon his son, in his strong embrace around Dean's shoulders.

Dean's tears were streaming down his face, his anguish over this deal piercing his heart, "No, Dad. It was wrong. It was unnatural. I was _dead_, the dead should stay dead."

"Dean, listen…."

"_No_, Dad." Dean's voice was breaking, his heart shattering all over again. The pain of his dad's sacrifice unbearable, _unforgivable._ "You shouldn't have done it. How can I live with that?" Dean whispered, his eyes revealing all his torment. Anger flashed across the features of his face as his hands furiously scrubbed at the tears in his eyes, then formed into fists with the heals of his palms tapping on his forehead before returning to nervously rest at his knees, fisting and knocking against his legs in anguish. Anger and pain and guilt all jumbled together in a mix of emotions that were trying to undo him. "How? How can I live with that? Knowing you died for me? I was supposed to die, not you. It wasn't natural. It wasn't right."

John stroked the back of his son's head, his fingers fluttering through his short cropped hair before resting at the nape of his neck with a tender touch. "Dean, you're my son. I'd have done anything to save you. Can you understand that? _Anything. _"

"But Dad, you _died_ for me. How am I supposed to live with that? Huh, Dad? How can I live with _that?"_

"For your brother…, for yourself. I would have died a thousand times for both my sons. That's what a father's love is. I know you're angry, that's fair, but there's no reason for you to feel guilty. You would have done the same for Sammy or me. Dean, you've always put the family first. _Please_, allow me this one gift for you. _For Sammy._ He needs _you. _He's always needed you more than me. The bond you share, that's what will make the difference."

_"Gift?" _Dean huffed, disbelief filling his eyes, "How can you call dying a gift?"

"Because it _saved you_. That's what matters…._you_. I needed you to live, Dean. Sammy _needs_ you to live."

"But Dad, I can't protect Sammy by myself. I'm not that strong." His voice cracking, the burden again heavy, overpowering. His eyes displaying all the fear and pain of his duty as tears again filled them. "I can't do it. I'm not strong enough." A soft, childlike voice then, "I'm not good enough."

John gripped his son's shoulder at the base of his neck in a firm embrace and looked him straight in the eyes, "You are, Dean. You just can't see it, but you are. You _are _strong and your destiny is to beat this Demon. You just have to have faith. I've seen it. I know it's true. _You and your brother_, united together, you're stronger than you can possibly imagine. This _is_ your destiny."

"But we can't do it without _you_, Dad. Please…, don't leave us." Dean again looked down, crushed by need, a child begging for comfort. "Dad, I need you."

"Dean, you _can_ do it. I know it's tough and it's certainly not fair. Son, you're the strongest man I've ever known, you need to believe that. I know it seems overwhelming, but you can do this. You and your brother _together_. You _will _save Sammy. You're the only one who can. You're stronger than you could ever imagine. You just need to believe it. I believe it. _I believe in you._ I wish it could be different. It's not what I wanted for you, but you have a job to do and I know you're going to do it. You always have. You _are _strong. You're my son and I am so proud of you. I love you. Remember that, I will always love you."

Dean looked up from his despair, a glimmer of hope shining in his eyes. Bolstered by his dad's faith in him, Dean thought maybe they could do this. Maybe together, Sammy and he could beat this Demon. Pride in his dad's words soon faded as he succumbed to another overwhelming pain when he remembered what the demons had told him. His eyes darkened as he envisioned his dad's destiny, an image too horrific to contemplate. He gazed into his dad's eyes, trying to see the truth within them, what his dad might be trying to shield him from. If the demons spoke the truth the pain would have to be evident, even John Winchester couldn't survive the depths of Hell unscathed. "Dad, the demon at the crossroads…. Meg…. they said you were suffering in Hell."

"Demons lie." John smiled, his tone so smooth and steady, so reassuring. "Dean, I'm not your concern, Sammy is. Don't worry about me; I can take care of myself. You concentrate on taking care of each other. I'll be fine as long as I know my sons are looking out for each other….that's all that matters…." John sat massaging his son's shoulders, trying to ease the tension growing in those strong shoulders, again weighed down with this huge responsibility. "Dean, Sammy's not a little boy anymore, he's a man. It's hard for us to remember that, but he is. Let him help you. That's the key, son. You and Sam helping each other, giving each other the strength to keep going, to keep fighting and beat this Demon."

"But he _is _my responsibility. You said so yourself. Dad, you told me…." Dean stopped, the words choking him, unbearable to say, let alone contemplate doing, "….you told me I might have to…." _Oh, God I can't even say it, what if it's true? What if….? _Drawing on all his hunter training he finally just forced the words out, "You told me I might have to _kill _Sammy."

"I was wrong."

All of Dean's belief in his dad startled in that moment, never before having heard that admission, never before believing it possible. He looked up, confusion in his eyes, all the certainty he had held onto for so long shaken. _Desperately hoping it was true, that it was all a mistake, a huge monstrous mistake._

"What?"

"Dean, it's not going to come to that. I can see clearer now. You _will_ save your brother. Please believe it."

"You're not just saying that?" Dean's voice cracking, desperate to cling to this hope, "Dad, I want to believe, I do. I just…. I need to know the truth, please…. you owe us that."

John smiled, his pride in his son so overpowering. His heart ached for him, knowing how much hurt he had suffered in his young life. How much pain he had already overcome, and how much more still lay in wait for him. Witnessing this strong man before him again tilting towards the windmill, ready to draw out his sword in battle, facing his darkest fears with determination and guts, prepared to face down the Devil himself if it meant saving his brother. John wished he could take back all the pain and offer him the peace he deserved; knowing now the best he could do would be to offer him hope…, belief in himself and faith in his brother.

"Dean, it's the truth. The two of you…. you need to take care of each other. You need to understand the deal I made…, it wasn't just for you. I did it for both of you. Sammy needs you, he's always needed you. You're his strength….let him be yours. My sons together will defeat this Demon. It's underestimating you. It has no idea what you and your brother are capable of….but I know. I've seen it. The one chance your brother had was you….you together with him; helping each other, the bond of brothers….that's going to be the difference. I know it's hard, but you'll find a way. You always do."

Dean gazed upon his dad with renewed hope, bolstered by the confidence his dad had in him…, _in his brother and him_. He'd always found strength in his dad's trust and belief in him. His heart lightened, so grateful for his dad's words, so relieved to have his dad beside him one more time.

"Dean, you're what kept me going all these years. You've always taken care of this family. I know you're going to be there for your brother when he needs you and he'll be there for you. Let him help you. That's the way it's supposed to be. Together my sons can do anything. You just need to believe in each other. Trust me son, you can do this." John paused and looked past Dean like he was listening to far away voices, before returning to the moment and gazing into his son's eyes with complete, total love, "Dean, forgive me."

Dean's eyes squinted in confusion, searching out understanding. "Forgive you? For what?"

"For everything. For not being here beside you in this battle, for stealing your childhood and making you grow up too fast, for leaving you with this burden….I just couldn't see any other way. I always tried my best for you and your brother; I just didn't know what else to do. I'm sorry I couldn't make this easier for you."

Dean's voice was trembling, his heart breaking, trying again to ease his dad's suffering, "No, Dad. Don't say that…, there's nothing to forgive. Please, don't think that, I….I know you always did your best. I know…."

"That's my son, always taking care of his family. Dean, forgive yourself, take care of yourself. You're a part of this family too. You deserve to be taken care of now. Allow me that….this one time. None of this is your fault; no one could expect any more from you. You're everything a man could ask for in a son, in a brother."

Relief washed over Dean, despair releasing its harsh grip as he descended into a peaceful calm. All his anguish extinguished as his dad's words wrapped him in the knowledge he was loved. He then knew they would conquer this evil, that he could save his brother, he _would_ save his brother and evil would not win this battle.

The warm feelings of love so welcomed, so treasured, taking him back to before the fire, leading him home to the safety of that time. A time and place where Mom and Dad kept all pain at bay, protecting him from the harsh realities of this world and only allowing the good to intrude into their peaceful haven.

His peaceful moment didn't last long as the humming resumed and panic hit Dean hard and sharp, cutting into his gut like a blade. Desperately he clung to the love as he realized the approaching end, this moment with his dad almost over. "Please, Dad. I don't want you to go."

"Dean, I can't stay," his tone tender, soothing, "you know that. I'll always be with you. Your mom and I…. Dean, just believe how much we love you. We'll always love you. We'll always be watching over you. We would do anything for you and Sammy. Anything. You hold on to that. Our love will always be with you."

Dean's voice cracked with deep emotion, his feelings fresh and real, exposed on the surface of his face for all to witness. "Mom? Are you with Mom?" Desperation and hope were pleading for it to be true; Dean's eyes expectantly awaiting the answer.

John slowly smiled, that warm, all-embracing dimple filled smile as his eyes shone. "Not yet, but it's gonna happen. Nothing can keep us apart. Don't worry about us, our love can't be denied. You and Sammy…, you're proof of that."

Dean released the breath he'd been holding, all his love bursting forth from his heart. His dad and he rose from the floor and wrapped their arms around each other in a tight embrace. Dean's hands fisting behind his dad's back, drawing him ever closer, holding on so tight, praying this moment would never end. John gripped his son to his chest, so thankful for this last chance, so grateful for his amazing son.

Dean was pulled back into the real world as bright lights again filled the room, the hum growing more insistent as the hues of the lights shimmered, oscillating along with the noise.

"Dad? What's happening?"

"It's time. Dean, remember I love you. Take care of each other. Promise me, no guilt. I want you to live, Dean. That's what you can do to make this all worth it.… you live."

Dean solemnly locked eyes with his dad and breathlessly whispered, "I will, Dad." One last promise to his dad; one final acceptance of his duty.

John started to flicker, his touch fading, a crackling of electricity surging through the air. Dean's heart reached out for one final desperate touch.

"Dad, I love you."

"I know. Dean, I'm so proud of you. You can do this."

John's hand ghosted over his son's face, one gentle wisp of a touch and he was gone.

Dean stood staring into the light, silently watching as the colors swirled and funneled into a pinprick and disappeared. His mind confused and overwhelmed. His heart thankful for this last embrace and final words, but still aching for more. Knowing then it could never be as much as he wanted, but at last it was what he needed. Enough to send him back on his journey, to show him the way.

As he stood reliving the moment, he tried to control his emotions, tried to be the strong son, old habits dying hard. His efforts didn't last long as the tears welling in his eyes started cascading down his cheeks, a river of grief flowing freely. He now knew how to cry, how to release his feelings, no longer able to deny his pain, instead grateful he could express it. Now knowing the pain could only bury him if he let it. At last feeling strong enough to face it down and vanquish it.

The pain of losing Dad fresh and raw; his heart finally able to release its anguish. For the first time acknowledging he was devastated by the loss, able to finally confront the pain. He stood tall as his body shook, fully experiencing his grief, allowing it to wash over him and immerse him in the anguish. Knowing once he felt the pain, it would diminish over time and he would be able to feel the love. He would always have the love. _Tears flowed…, tears for his father, tears for the death of his hero._

TBC


	4. Brothers United

Thank you to everyone who has left a review, they are always appreciated. I have been answering them, but with the alerts down who knows if they'll ever go out. This was a very difficult story to write and I put a lot of time into it. I tried my best to write it realistically in a psychologically sound, but interesting manner.

Considering all Dean has been through, Swan and I find it amazing he didn't break down before, but he needed a safe place to let it all out. John presented him with that safe haven. He needed to cry out all his anguish in order to move past it and become the strong, whole man he is meant to be.

Personally, I would love to see JA's emotional acting as Dean releases his anguish. As heartbreaking as it would be to watch, it would be riveting TV. This is the last chapter and I would love to hear what you think. Thanks for reading, B.J.

"_I know that every good and excellent thing in the world stands moment by moment_ _on the razor-edge of danger and must be fought for..." - _Thornton Wilder

Chapter Four – Brothers United

"Ellen, where's Dean?" Sam looked up from his confab with Ash and noticed his brother had left his position at the end of the bar, his bottle of beer half full and abandoned. A quick glance around the deserted bar and he still hadn't located him. He'd waited five minutes thinking he might be in the restroom before confronting the owner of the roadhouse.

Ellen's voice was gruff, registering no detectable concern, "Dean's a big boy. He can take care of himself."

She turned away, too quick, too casual. Sam had interrogated enough witnesses to supernatural activity over the years to know when someone was skirting an issue. She was acting guilty, duplicitous.

"Ellen, what aren't you telling me? Where's my brother?"

Ellen sounded like a disapproving schoolmarm chastising a rowdy teenager, "Sam, let him be."

It was a tone Sam didn't appreciate, reminding him too much of his dad's authoritative tone with his sons. His own reply equally harsh, "No, Ellen. Dean's been alone too much lately. He's not all right, not by a long shot."

Sam was beginning to worry, not like he hadn't been worried about Dean before; but something was niggling in the back of his mind, a pit was growing in the depths of his gut. Something wasn't right,_ he could feel it._

"Sam." Ellen exhaled a deep breath, her tone firm and unyielding as she wiped down the bar with a damp rag, throwing Dean's bottle of warm beer in the trash. "Dean just had something to take care of.… he'll be out in a bit."

Sam turned toward the back rooms, no clue what was going on, just sensing Dean needed him.

"Sam, don't." Ellen sternly responded as she rounded the corner of the bar to block his path.

Sam's anger was seething just beneath the surface ready to erupt, his eyes resolute. "You don't _know_ my brother. You don't know what he needs. Let me go." Sam pushed past her, determined more than ever to reach Dean.

She followed him through the swinging door and gasped when she saw the blinding light coming from underneath the door of the spare room. Sam rushed the door and frantically twisted the doorknob. When the door failed to open, he threw all his weight against it determined to knock it down. The door barely moved from his efforts.

"Ellen, what the hell is happening?"

Ellen stammered, eyes wide in disbelief. "I don't know."

Sam kept pressing against the door, pounding it with his fist, kicking at the base, yelling his brother's name in a desperate attempt to bust through. All to no avail, the door was impenetrable, a fortress keeping them out, keeping him from his brother…., keeping his brother from him. _It might as well be a fucking block of stone!_

"Ellen, please. Tell me. What's going on?"

"Sam, it was just a duffel of old clothes."

"What?" His voice incredulous, the pieces in no way fitting with the supernatural presence he felt emanating from the room.

"Dean was just going through a duffel bag John left here. I swear Sam; I don't know what this is."

Sheer terror contorted Sam's face. He'd faced the unknown all his life, but this fear was different. Dean was vulnerable; shattered by Dad's death, so terrifyingly susceptible to any evil that might come to claim him. A flash of memory assaulted him, the first time he'd ever witnessed his brother in a truly vulnerable state, the first time he'd seen a crack in his brother's tough facade.

"Dean, you need to get a handle on this. Demons, they look for vulnerability, a chink in the armor. You need to calm yourself down or you're leaving yourself wide open to demonic possession."

Dean nodded in agreement, steeling his courage and facing his fear head on, displaying all the Winchester fortitude and tenacity. Together they had vanquished the phantom traveler crashing planes and claiming lives, but that was then…, this was now. So much had changed in the year they'd been together again. _The Demon's plans…. Dad's death…. Sam's destiny…._

_Oh God! What's happening?_

Seconds seemed like days, the blinding light and low throbbing hum bringing every imaginable horror to Sam's mind. Frantic he continued to slam all his weight and strength against the door, a door that previously would have shattered from his efforts, but now stood firm and strong.

"Dean, can you hear me? Dean, please. What's going on? Dean!" His shouts didn't seem to penetrate above the steady hum that was coming from the room, overpowered by whatever evil was trapped in that room with his brother.

Panic consumed him, terror this might be the moment, the moment he had always dreaded. He surrendered to the fear that he was cursed, that everyone he loved was doomed to die a violent death simply because they dared love him.

The Demon's voice in his head, taunting him, "You're mine, Sammy. You want to know why they died? Mom and Jess? Because they got in the way of my plans…. my plans for you and all the children like you." Only one person now stood between him and the Demon. Only one man had sworn to protect him and still lived. Dean_…. Dean!_

Before he could disappear into his despair, the lights faded and the hum dissipated. He was surrounded by silence, pierced only by the wild beating of his heart. The door remained locked, immoveable, a fortress separating him from his brother.

_Oh God, Dean. Don't you let this evil take you. You hear me? You fight! You've fought your entire life, don't you give up now. You hear me?_

Sam shuddered, not knowing what to do, lost without direction. A capable and deadly hunter in his own right, but in this moment praying for another Winchester by his side; knowing that united together they were unstoppable, deadly times a thousand. As his brother had so plainly spoken a lifetime ago, "We're stronger as a family, Dad. We just are."

_Dean, you always did know how to get through to Dad; how to get him to listen. All the grief I gave you about always following Dad's orders and yet you stood up to him when I was ready to back down._

Sam went ballistic on the door, throwing the full force of his body against it, kicking it mercilessly. All his terror welling up and focused into a single-minded determination to reach his brother, to save him. A deep despair overtaking him as he contemplated losing his brother, another loss piled on top of Jessica and Dad and…. _Mom._ Those losses now paling next to the thought of losing his big brother.

Sam suddenly realized Dean had always been the most important person in his life: his rock, his lifeline, _his better half. _At last realizing how incomplete he felt without his brother's sure presence. All the years of running never erasing the fact his relationship with his brother was the one constant in his life, the one person he knew he could _always_ depend on.

Even after the last few weeks, with Dean buried in his grief, pushing his brother away, retreating into his own secret world; Sam still knew he could count on his brother when it mattered. Dean would never be the sharing and caring, touchy-feely, open book he longed for in his older brother, but he would always be there. He would always have his back, unless evil took him first.

Evil had tried, on more then one occasion. Dean had cheated death so many times now, it seemed a given; but time runs out for every man and Sam trembled to think this might be Dean's time. He needed to save him, he needed to protect him; like Dean had always saved and protected him. He had to get into that room; he had to reach his brother. He summoned all his abilities, focusing on that one, single-minded goal. _Dean. Dean needs me._

He stood back from the door and concentrated, focusing his thoughts on saving his brother. The door rumbled and quaked, shaking furiously back and forth, threatening to break loose from its bolts. It then stilled and Sam tentatively clasped his hand around the door knob. Half a turn and it swung open. Sam stepped into the room before the door again slammed closed, locking behind him.

Blinding lights filled the room with a rainbow of color. Every hue throbbing to the rhythm of the hum that was rising in a deafening crescendo. All awareness consumed by the sights and sounds in the room, brilliant and shocking to his heightened senses. His focus was drawn to the image of his brother sitting still on the floor, huddled in on himself and then his jaw dropped as he witnessed the man beside him, his arm wrapped protectively around his shoulders. _Dad…._

His feet were leaden and he couldn't cross the distance to reach them. He stood staring, mesmerized by the vision before him, his eyes blinking and trying to focus, unsure if he could trust them.

His brother and his dad rose and embraced in a long, emotional hug. As they broke their hold with tears in their eyes, Dad turned and glanced his way, locking eyes with his younger son. With only an instant to react, John simply nodded with a welcoming smile and disappeared into a warm, relaxing glow of lights. The lights swirling like a whirlwind before funneling into a wisp of light and dancing across the room to encircle the younger Winchester.

As the shimmering light enveloped him, Sam breathed in all the emotions his brother had purged and all the love Dad had brought. His senses registering the entire encounter between his brother and his dad, imprinting the magic of the moment into his memories. In an instant he saw it all and he felt his dad's regrets for all past mistakes, his hopes for his sons' futures, and his overwhelming love for them.

His brother's emotions enacted a heavier toll, the vast expanse of his pain and fear taking considerably longer to absorb. Sam literally shook at the depths of Dean's anguish, his gut clenching from the sudden assault of the intense pain; finally understanding his brother in ways never before possible. At last feeling what Dean felt, realizing the immense weight of all the secrets he had stuffed down deep within. Most of the specifics lost and unimportant, left only with the staggering emotions. All his hurts and terrors distilled down to an immense mountain of anguish shifting precariously, ready to bury them both.

The map of his pain starting with the devastating emotional toll the four-year old boy suffered when he witnessed his mom burning up on the ceiling of his baby brother's nursery. _Oh, God! Dean actually saw! How could a child deal with that?_ The pain then expanding to include years of responsibility and terror, pain piled on top of pain until a lesser man would have buckled and fallen, but not Dean. Dean was strong. To survive half his anguish still intact made him strong, to survive it all made him a fucking iron man.

The room was still now, deathly quiet except for the excruciating sounds of heartbreaking sobbing. Dean was trembling from the emotional release wracking his body. He again sank to the floor, small and wrapped in on himself, still except for the shaking of his body, tears streaming from his eyes.

Sam gasped from the weight of it all, overwhelmed by what he had just experienced, tears freely flowing from his own eyes. His love and empathy for his brother at the forefront of his mind, closely followed by his own grief at losing Dad again, so fresh and real. Now only wanting to comfort his brother, to ease his suffering, to protect his big brother like Dean had always protected him.

He silently crossed the room until he was standing over Dean, trying not to startle him, just wanting to let him know he wasn't alone. Let him know he was protected and safe. Dean seemed lost in his grief, buried within his erupting emotions. Sam eased down next to his big brother, not touching him, trying hard not to disturb him, waiting for Dean to make the first move.

Dean looked so fragile, so ready to shatter. Like any touch could send him toppling over the edge of the cliff to scatter into a million jagged shards of glass and rock. A fractured puzzle too complex to ever again be assembled. Or maybe it was Sam who felt like he might break into a million jagged bits of glass…, the pain in his gut so sharp and cutting. He gasped from the strain of it all, so devastated at seeing his brother in such a state, in feeling his brother's overwhelming pain, now knowing it first hand.

Dean didn't speak but shifted ever so slightly and the brothers were shoulder to shoulder on the floor, barely touching, but Sam felt a shiver of electricity from that small connection. He sighed and found comfort in that. He would sit there beside his brother and bear witness as he released his pain, and he would be there to help him up off the ground when he was ready. However long it took; he would be there.

It took a long time and many tears before Dean looked up, a childlike wonder in his eyes; eyes tinged in red above tear soaked cheeks, his mouth making small panting sounds as if he were concentrating on just maintaining his breathing, but there was something else in those eyes: a light beaming alongside the strength.

The familiar Winchester determination was illuminated by a bright, shining glow, and a peaceful tranquility descended over him, and Sam knew he was going to be all right. He knew this was a good thing. He had longed for his brother to show him what he was feeling for so long that he had forgotten to be thankful for this blessing. Silently he thanked the powers that be, and he thanked his dad. Dean was going to be all right. They both were, and they would be all right together.

Dean again buried his head in his drawn up knees, releasing the last of his demons, fully realizing his loss and finally grieving his dad. Accepting the pain, processing it and releasing it. Allowing himself to feel it for the first time in his life, to accept that his only control was how he dealt with the pain. It was futile to ignore it; if he faced it then it held no power over him. He could accept Dad's death and finally move on, always remembering, but living again like his dad had asked.

Ellen had reached the door just as it slammed shut after Sam disappeared into the room. She'd only had a moment to consider the possible reasons and ramifications before the blinding lights again appeared and then just as quickly petered out, leaving an unsettling still. Time seemed to hesitate and then she heard a soft click and tried the door, twisting the knob and entering the room.

The room appeared just as she had left it with Dean before, no evidence of supernatural activity except for the hair standing up on the back of her neck, a hunter's sense of the otherworldly. All her fears and trepidation eased as she witnessed the brothers Winchester sitting calmly on the floor, shoulder to shoulder.

They were both crying rivers of tears, but it seemed more a release than the result of injury. Sam looked up and locked eyes with her, silently acknowledging they were fine and to just let them be. She nodded and retreated, again finding herself at her bar downing a stiff drink. _Damn, owning a bar sure comes in handy at times like these._

Sam sat with his brother and waited. He'd waited his entire life to be this close to Dean's real emotions, to see his brother like this, raw and unguarded. After a year of prodding and prying, Dean had finally slipped from behind the façade and revealed his core being. Sam had never felt more pride and respect for his brother, knowing what he now knew and how Dean survived, survived the best a four-year old child could. He knew his brother would only be stronger now that he was whole…; more formidable than he had ever appeared.

So Sam patiently waited. He had all the time in the world for his brother to move past this. He spent his time feeling the pain and coming to terms with it, understanding his brother because of it.

Dean let his emotions flow, until he was finally able to work past the tears to experience the joy his heart felt from finally being free. This anguish that had weighed him down his entire life at last conquered, never before allowing him to truly feel happiness. He was at peace for the first time in a very long time and at last free of the pain.

"Sammy?"

Sam smiled and shifted a little closer. He had never in his entire existence been so glad to hear his childhood name. "Dean, I'm right here…. I'm right here." And then he waited, still fearful of intruding on his brother, still unsure if Dean was ready to speak of this miracle.

Dean gasped and a slight smile crossed his lips, he repeated the soothing word as his personal mantra, "Sammy." Dean's eyes were moist with tears, glazed over like he still hadn't come back to reality, as if it still hadn't sunk in. _Dad came back._ Dad was here, for just a moment, but _here_, right where Dean needed him. For once Dean got what _he _needed; for once his prayers were answered. His emotions were still unsettled but Dean smiled, at first hesitant and unsure, but soon with confidence and a sense of relief. He smiled a true, contented smile, "Oh man. Just give me a minute, 'kay?"

"Sure, Dean. I'm just gonna sit here. You don't have to say anything….I'll be right here. All right?"

Dean nodded. He'd always wanted his brother near him….with him. He wanted him close now to share this moment; he needed him here by his side.

A last wave of emotion silently rippled across his face and Dean looked up and noticed the concerned gaze of his brother. He felt his strength returning, pure and true, and stared back at his little brother and for the first time he saw a man. A competent, full grown man…, an equal. He knew he wasn't a boy a long time ago, he just never realized he was a man, not really….Dad was right, _together_….together they would beat this demon. He now knew it, could feel it down to his core; just as sure as tomorrow would come, and the Demon would come after that. But that was tomorrow or the day after, or the day after that…, for now he knew he was safe…. safe with his brother by his side.

The brothers silently sat, shoulder to shoulder, no words necessary, just being. Their breathing and the beating of their hearts the only sounds left. A calm surrounding them, immersing them into an unknown bliss, a peaceful serenity. Dad's presence still intensely felt, clung to with love and hope.

Sam kept glancing at his brother, captivated by him. Dean looked _different_…, serene, at peace. His eyes sparkled and his skin glowed with youth again as if years of pain and worry and torment had been lifted revealing a young man; the man Sam had always hoped to see again, a man who once again had hope…._faith. _

_All the facets of his intricate personality shining, shimmering with a new vitality._

Sam felt relief and an intense happiness just from being in Dean's presence. So thankful for Dad's return and filled with hope gleaned from his words of confidence. With his brother's amazing strength he knew they would win against this Demon, knew together they could overcome any obstacle.

"You all right, Sammy?"

Sam looked up and smiled. Figures Dean's first concern would be for him. "I'm fine big brother, how about you?"

Dean grinned, that quirky little smirk where his dimples above his lips deepen and his eyes dance, "I'm good, Sammy. I'm good."

Unlike all his protestations before, this time Sam knew it was true, maybe true for the first time. He paused, before cautiously proceeding, needing to connect on a deeper level. He could sense his brother was wide open, no longer buried within himself, his inner strength and beauty shining through.

"Dean…. I saw Dad."

Total relief and awe reflected in Dean's eyes, silently rejoicing that Sam had shared in this miracle.

"Really?"

"Yeah Dean, _really_."

"Man…. It's just so weird, him appearing like that…. Guess we finally know more about this amulet Bobby gave me."

"Is that how it happened?"

"I guess…, don't really know. Dad's pocket watch touched it and whammy…. just like Jeannie and the bottle, there he was." Dean grinned, remembering the feeling and the joy, _the relief_…. reveling in the memory. "At least, that's what Dad figured."

"So, you all right with everything?" Sam felt he was, but he needed to hear Dean say it. He wanted assurance this was all for the best and Dean had found some peace from Dad's visit.

"Yeah Sammy, I'm good…. relax little brother, I'm good…._really_." Dean's eyes were still glowing, positively radiant, his whole face so serene.

Sam did relax and slowly released the breath he'd been holding, a smile overwhelming his face until he noticed his brother's bloody hand. He reached over and gently touched it. "Dean, what happened?"

Dean held his injured hand up before his face, turning it to view all angles. A pensive, curious look in his eyes. "It's all right. Just got frustrated, I guess."

"You really did a number on it. Is it broken?"

"Nah. Sure hurts like a bitch." Dean was still examining it, touching the raw skin, seeing how fragile it truly was, grimacing when he found a particularly sensitive spot. "Funny, but at the time, I couldn't even feel it."

"Guess you were feeling too much other pain?"

"Huh? I dunno, maybe. Remember Sammy, I never took all those college psyche courses. And don't go getting any ideas; I'm not ready to jump on the shrink's couch," He joked as his cocky attitude and smirk offered up an image of the old Dean, "not in this lifetime."

"But you feel better, don't you? Letting the pain out?"

Dean looked surprised, truly amazed at how he felt, never imagining he could feel this good after such a gut-wrenching display of raw emotions. "Yeah, Sammy. It feels great, like…. I don't know…, like a fresh start. Like it's finally in the past, all that shit and stuff, that it's not right there weighing me down or something."

"I'm glad, Dean. You look good, so relaxed…. at peace."

"Yeah…, it's good Sammy. Like maybe we can do this….like maybe we're gonna win. Hell, I _know_ we're going to beat this Demon. You believe that? Don't you, Sam?"

"Yeah Dean, I believe it. Just like Dad said, together we can do anything." Sam shifted, nervous to bring it up, but not wanting any secrets between them, hoping to maintain this new openness, "Dean…. I heard everything Dad said…, I saw it all."

"You did, huh? What? That psychic mojo of yours working overtime?"

"Maybe, I don't know."

Dean studied his brother, Sam's expression so intense and hesitant, almost scared.

"So, you really saw and heard _everything?"_

"Yeah."

Dean's misted eyes glimmered, registering the words; rolling the thought around in his mind before softly uttering, "Oh," as the meaning sunk in.

"Dean, I heard what Dad told you about why he did it."

Dean immediately shifted into protective mode, his voice tender and soothing, "Sammy, he knew you loved him."

"Yeah, I know. It's not about that, it's…. it's just…."

"Sam…" The concern in Dean's voice growing stronger, concern for his kid brother.

"Dean, just listen, will you?"

Dean's eyes took on a softer focus, a bitter pain waiting to be revealed, his entire being again looking to protect his baby brother. "Sammy, don't. You don't have to."

Sam's eyes were glistening with new tears, "Dean, it's true."

Dean tensed, sensing he was about to jump headlong into painful territory again.

"What? You're the psychic, not me." His voice lowering and becoming gentler now, "What's true?"

"Dad was right about me needing you more than him. I've known all along he didn't just make that deal for you…. He made it for me too."

"Sammy, it's all right. It's over."

"No, it's not. I need you to know the truth, Dean. You've always been the single most important person in my life." Sam's eyes filled with pain and love, his voice brittle and trembling as he spoke, "I've always needed you."

"Yeah? Well, I've always needed you." Dean's smile tender and heartfelt. He leaned into his brother's shoulder, his hand reaching out and squeezing his brother's knee in an affectionate touch. "You're my whole reason for living. Taking care of you…, trying to keep you safe."

"And you always have, even when I couldn't see it. You've always been there for me."

"That's what big brothers are for."

"Dad knew that, he knew how much I needed you…."

Dean quickly broke in, "It's not your fault, Sammy."

"Dean, it's not yours either. Dad made his own choice….he had his reasons and I guess….we both just need to accept that. Can you do that, Dean? Can you accept Dad's sacrifice for both of us?"

"Already have, Sammy. Dad loved us. He always tried his best for us. I know that. You need to believe it too. It's done. It's what he wanted. We just need to keep going."

Sam smiled, so grateful for his big brother, so grateful for Dad's sacrifice. "Yeah, I know…. Dean, the truth is…. I _did_ need you more than Dad. If I'd had to make a choice…."

Dean cut him off, "But you didn't make a choice, did you? It was Dad's choice." Dean wrapped his arm around his brother, holding him in a firm embrace, a mirror image of the hold John had held him in. "Why didn't you tell me about this?"

"I felt so much guilt, so much relief that he saved you even if it cost him his life." All Sam's emotions were there on his face, drawing Dean into his pain. "I just didn't know what to think. God help me, I was just so grateful you were alive."

"Shhhh Sammy, it's all right." Dean clasped his brother at his neck and drew him closer, looking deep into the depths of his pain, not turning away, plunging into the pain and trying to ease it. His voice deep and sure, "You should have told me."

"I knew you were already in so much pain, so much grief over Dad. I didn't want to hurt you any more. I knew you'd just try to take on my pain, like you always do."

Dean smiled, sweet and soothing. "Big brother's prerogative. Remember?"

A familiar pained look passed over Sam's face before it was replaced by a look of determination. "Dean, no more…._please_. Dad was right about me too."

"About what?"

"I'm not a child, not the kid brother. Not anymore."

Dean smirked, "You'll always be the kid brother…. _my kid brother_."

"And you'll always be the big brother, nothing will _ever_ change that. But Dean, I'm not a kid, I'm full grown. You don't need to take on my pain. You're not responsible for me. You don't need to always protect me."

"Yeah? Well, that's not gonna stop any time soon."

"Dean, I'm not that little kid you still need to protect."

"Sammy, I know. You're a man, I get it. Hell, you've been towering over me since you were fifteen. Believe me, I know."

"So how about you treat me like an equal? Let me take care of you sometimes? Can you do that, Dean?"

"Sammy, I'll try. I will…, but you gotta understand, I'm always gonna see my kid brother. I'm always gonna want to protect that little boy. That's never gonna change. It's been my job for too long now."

"And I feel the same about you. I'm always gonna have your back. You can _always _count on me. Let me take care of you too. Share the load."

Dean smirked, "I don't know, Sammy. I can be a handful."

"I've noticed, but I think I can manage."

"All right then, we take care of each other." Dean relaxed. A relieved, contented smile enveloping his face before he added, "Sammy, Dad loved us."

"I know. I felt that too."

"And he knew we loved him."

"Yeah Dean, I know."

"Good."

Dean gave his brother a soft shake from his hand at the base of his neck and then reached across his shoulders and deepened the hug, pulling his brother closer to him in a firm grip. Sam responded by wrapping his arm around is brother's shoulder in a tight embrace.

Sam sighed, happy and contented and peaceful, but mostly grateful. "Dean, I'm glad you're in this with me. I'm glad you're my big brother."

Dean grinned and pulled him ever closer, his arm still wrapped protectively and lovingly around his brother's shoulders, "No place else I'd be. Sammy…. I…." Dean laughed quietly, not quite believing he was allowing himself to be this open and honest, but grateful he no longer felt the need to hide his feelings, "Sammy, I'm glad you're my little brother."

The brothers sat quietly, just existing, just _being_…. Content to just sit beside each other and relax before their duty would again send them down that long, hard road. Time passed and they stayed locked in their embrace, savoring this moment together.

Finally Dean reluctantly broke the embrace and reached underneath the army cot to retrieve the gold pocket watch up off the floor where it had been neglected in all the commotion. He turned it over in his hand, studying it before lifting up the fob and letting the watch dangle on the chain. His eyes never leaving the shiny object as it danced at the end of the chain, spinning wildly as he watched, lost deep in thought.

Sam's eyes followed the movement of the watch, curious by his brother's reaction to it. Wondering what the appeal was, sensing this watch meant something. _What had Dean said? Dad's watch touched his amulet?_

Dean glanced out of the corner of his eye and noticed Sam's curious look. "Hey, Sammy."

Sam was comforted by the familiar easy tone of Dean's voice, a normal, pleasant air to his words, his warm smile filling Sam with joy. The watch seemed critical to Dean as he sat mesmerized by it, the wheels in his mind turning in unseen fashion. Sam was anxious to know why it held his fascination.

"What is it? It looks….familiar."

"You remember it?" Dean looked surprised…, _pleasantly surprised_.

"I don't know, maybe…. something about it."

Dean's grin lit up his face, the memory obviously a good one. "Dad's pocket watch, a family heirloom. I found it in his duffel bag. He used to use it to quiet you when you went all ballistic crying." Dean laughed, warm and low. _God, it is so good to hear him laugh again!_ "Here, let me show you." He flicked his wrist and the antique pocket watch leaped up, landing in his open palm, and he sighed, a contented smile filling out the features of his face. He deftly slid the opening mechanism and the watch cover opened as a beautiful, haunting melody played.

"That music. I know it."

"Well, you should. It showed you the way to la-la-land many times young grasshopper."

"What happened to it? Why was it here at Ellen's?"

"Long story, not totally sure, but for right now all we need to know is we have it back. It's a family heirloom, supposed to be passed down from generation to generation. Dad called it a legacy." Dean's eyes misted up, the emotions again embracing him as he tenderly held the watch, "Dad's legacy."

Sam considered what Dean was saying, seeing the emotion in his brother and trying to understand. He spoke gently, carefully choosing his words, trying to insure his meaning came out like he intended. "Dean, the watch is cool and everything….but it's not Dad's legacy to us. I told you before, what Dad taught us, how we save peoples' lives…._that's_ his legacy. Every innocent he ever saved…, every innocent we've saved in the past, and all the people we'll save in the future because of what he taught us, that's his legacy."

Dean smiled, a deep, contented smile, his pride and love for his dad beaming in that peaceful smile, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, Dean. You told me that, remember?"

It seemed like a lifetime ago; Sam was the one in anguish, grieving Jessica and searching for reasons why. For Dean, everything had seemed so crystal clear then, so uncomplicated. Their one true purpose to hunt down and destroy evil. Dad's journal guiding them on their journey, their mission simple…. So much had changed in the past year, doubts and fears striking new terrors in him, amplifying his concerns and leaving him uncertain….unsure for the first time in his life. _Hesitant, lost._

But Dad had come back, bringing a renewed focus. A new hope welled in Dean, a stronger confidence, and a firm resolve. His duty again clear, his course set. They were going to defeat this Demon; he felt it to the depths of his core. Together Sammy and he could tackle anything. Dad said so. _Dad had shown him the way._

After years of conflict and division the Winchester brothers were finally on the same page, finally united in this fight. Two halves of one whole. Each brother unique and multi-faceted, brilliant in his own right, a strong and capable hunter on his own. Now united together, standing side by side ready to wage battle, they were unstoppable. _Evil was in for one hell of a fight._

Dean remembered his words to his brother back at Blackwater Ridge, "Dad left us his journal. This is Dad's single, most valuable possession. Everything he knows about hunting evil is in this book. And he's passed it on to us. He wants us to pick up where he left off…, saving people, hunting things, _the family business_."

Dean looked into his brother's concerned eyes and smiled. How had he forgotten? Somehow caught up in the pain, he'd lost sight of it. He'd let it just slip away….Sammy was right….

He'd longed for a connection to his past, to his dad, and to his family, and it was right there the whole time…. the family legacy…,_ Dad's legacy_.

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"_It is up to us to live up to the legacy that was left for us, and to leave a legacy that is worthy of our children and of future generations." _- Christine Gregoire

The End

bjxmas April, 2007

All standard disclaimers apply.


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